


I'll Kill Her

by theOther_Will_Grayson



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Severitus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 18:13:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13863174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theOther_Will_Grayson/pseuds/theOther_Will_Grayson
Summary: Draco can't be friends with the Golden Trio. It's too dangerous, with Draco's family, and the way things are. So they're not friends. At least not publicly. But when someone hurts a not-friend, you do anything to help and defend them. HPDM (minor). Severitus (really minor)





	I'll Kill Her

“RON!”

He started, immediately holding his hands up as a white flag. “What the bloody hell did I do now?”

Hermione shook the parchment in his face. “This is *literally* the most *abysmal* handwriting I’ve ever seen.” She threw up her hands, sinking into the soft chair that the Room of Requirement had provided in defeat. “And I’ve graded Harry’s essays.”

“Hey!”

Ron flushed red, whether from embarrassment or annoyance, Harry couldn’t tell. “Sorry ‘Mione,” Ron mumbled, refusing to look at her. “I just wrote a little fast.”

“Wow, mate,” Harry smirked, looking up from his own quill and parchment pair. “You made Hermione misuse the word ‘literally.’ Must be really bad.”

Hermione huffed, glaring at Harry for mentioning her mistake. She picked up the parchment filled with Ron’s indescribably unreadable chicken scratch. “I’m not exactly making a habit of it. I’m merely stretched thin from grading all your damn essays and of course frustrated by the general existence of the *fucking* Toad.”

The boys gaped at Hermione’s language, but she ignored them completely, scratching restlessly at her eyebrow with her worried and cracked nails. “My vocabulary is slipping.”

Ron met Harry’s eyes, then made a face as if he wished he hadn’t, reading the cue from the far more empathetic boy to quit being an arse and do something. He grimaced before sighing and dragging his body up to Hermione. “Here, give me my essay. I’ll just make Malfoy grade it or something.”

“It’s fine,” Hermione sighed, waving him off. “Really, it’s a welcome distraction. I’m just sick of having to sneak around to the Room of bloody Requirement simply to enjoy the presence of the fourth member of our group.”

“Speaking of whom,” Harry mused. “Where is Draco?”

Hermione frowned, setting down Ron’s parchment. “Good question. He’s late. He’s never late.”

“Damn, you think he’s not coming? I was going to beat him in chess again.” Ron and Draco had a healthy rivalry going on, and Ron always enjoyed their games, even if he lost. It made Harry exceedingly happy because of how wary the two had been of one another for a time. Now, neither Draco nor Ron ever missed a session, jumping at the opportunity to test their skills against one another. 

Hermione was always grateful for the battle of wits that Draco brought to their little nook in the Room. The two would sit across the coffee table and do nothing more than debate, or bounce facts off one another, just waiting for the other to slip up. It was always Draco of course, but that was more of an issue of arrogance than of intelligence. But when Ron or Harry was being ignorant, Draco was always the first to back Hermione up in an argument.

And Harry...well Harry just liked having him around. He hated that they had to meet here, in the Room of Requirement just to say hello before curfew, but with the Toad prowling about and tensions so high with Death Eaters everywhere and the Malfoys dragged into the center of it as usual, Harry and Draco couldn’t risk being seen together for Draco’s safety, no matter how many times Lucius shook Harry’s hand and smiled at him genuinely.

All that aside, it wasn’t like Draco to not show up to what he liked to call his “daily dose of Gryffindor.”

“Don’t worry, mate.” Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder. “I’m sure he’s just off giving some innocent first year detention to show off to the Toad.”

As if on cue, the door to the Room opened slowly, and then all at once, and Draco stumbled in, clutching something in his hands. His unfocused eyes locked on the Golden Trio, who stood to greet him with hesitation in their step. Ron’s essay lay forgotten on the floor as Hermione’s sharp, motherly gaze zeroed in on Draco’s gaunt, sickly face. Draco swayed on the spot, and with a cry of fright, Hermione rushed to his side, ignoring how he shied and curled his fists and whatever was in them closer to his body. In fact, only Harry seemed to notice. Hermione cradled Draco’s cheeks, fussing and fretting over his state. Ron looked uncomfortable, but worried all the same, his body poised towards Draco as if he wanted to help, but didn’t know how. Harry stared at Draco’s hands.

“I’m fine, ‘Mione.” The nickname stuck out like a sore thumb in Harry’s ears. Draco minced words rarely, and the slurred abbreviation meant something was really wrong.

His hand. What was in his hand?

Hermione guided Draco to a soft armchair, muttering to him encouragingly and supporting his weak body. 

Harry knelt on the rug at Draco’s feet. A sheen of sweat glittered on Draco’s brow, his body draped over the chair like a wet towel, positively melting into the cushions, weak, prostrate. But his fists still gripped something, a piece of cloth, Harry saw now, wrapped around his hand. Draco’s wet eyes met Harry’s own and Harry gently placed his gentle hands over Draco’s tense, shaking ones, peeling fingers from red skin. He pulled Draco’s hand into his own, palm to palm, and removed the handkerchief.

Letters, drowning in a river of blood that flowed freely when exposed to the stinging air. Draco hissed through his teeth when Harry quickly replaced the handkerchief. “The Toad,” Ron spat.

Harry seethed. “I’ll kill her.”

“I’ll join you.”

“He needs Pomfrey,” Hermione cut in.

“No,” Draco spoke up for the first time, grimacing.

“Draco, you need something, Murtlap, probably-”

“Believe me, I know,” Harry told him seriously.

“Snape,” Draco gasped, his lips tight, from pain or effort to stay awake, Harry couldn’t tell.

Harry searched his eyes, then turned and told Ron, “Go get Snape.”

“Why?”

“Umbridge has too much power. We can’t go to Pomfrey about this, she’ll catch wind.”

Ron nodded, eyes wide. “Okay.”

“Wait.” Hermione. “We can’t.”

Harry’s anger rose in the tension. “Why the hell not? Look at him!”

“I know, Harry,” Hermione soothed. “But these meetings are secret for a reason. Snape’s loyalties are debatable, but either way, he can’t find out. We’d only put Draco in danger in the long run.”

Harry looked away, calculating, his jaw and one fist clenched, the other wrapped around Draco’s. “So what do we do?

“We say we found him in the hall like this. We were walking back from the library and we found him in the corridor and we brought him to Snape because he didn’t want to go to Pomfrey.” Hermione knew her logic was sound and they were doing things her way, but she still looked to Harry for the final go-ahead.

Finally, Harry said, “Alright. Help him up.”

The transition from the chair to the hallway was arduous at best, filled with grunting and swearing and apologizing and sweat. Draco’s face was in a near-constant state of suppressed pain, scrunched up and shining with exertion. Finally they figured out a rhythm and walked down the corridor at what Harry thought was too slow a pace based on the obvious urgency of Draco’s condition, and too fast based on the shortness of Draco’s breaths.

Harry supported Draco at his shoulders, Hermione’s hand on the small of his back herding him along. Sweat matted Draco’s hair to his forehead, blond locks darkened with salty dampness. Ron, who held up Draco’s other side, kept looking at Harry worriedly, as if trying to get a signal across. Harry knew exactly what Ron was thinking.

Mine wasn’t this bad.

The handkerchief was soaked through, sticking wet and useless to Draco’s skin. Why wasn’t it healing? It was supposed to heal. Harry’s had healed immediately. The first time at least. After a while…

Harry had to ask. He had to. “Draco, how many times?”

Ron and Hermione watched him expectantly as he huffed with the effort of descending the stairs. “236.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. “Oh, Draco…” Ron breathed, “Merlin.” Harry simply clenched his jaw, new waves of worry washing over him. No wonder Draco looked like death. That many, all at once…

Draco just looked grateful they didn’t ask what it said.

After too long a struggle, they arrived at the door to the potions classroom. An uneasy silence descended upon them. The door had been locked after the last class hours ago, but Snape was in his quarters, adjacent to the classroom. Or at least, they hoped he was. No. He was. He had to be. “Well I’m not knocking,” Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes and stepped forward. “Honestly.” She rapped her knuckles against the door, looking perhaps more hesitant than she liked.

The arrival of the exasperated wrath came too quickly for them to comprehend or prepare for. Snape burst through the door, still in robes thankfully, but nonetheless looking positively furious, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “What.”

And with that, Draco’s knees buckled. Startled and unprepared, Harry and Ron lost their grip on him, and his limp body pitched forward and fell into Snape’s arms.

Snape glanced at Harry, gripping Draco’s shoulders, but needed little prompting before he hoisted the boy into his arms with surprising strength and stepped backwards into the classroom.

“What happened?” Snape didn’t look back as he strode past the workstations and through the door which they knew led to his office and quarters. The trio followed, unsure about the invasion of privacy, but taking the fact that he kept talking to him as their cue that it was fine.

“Well, sir, we found him in the corridor on the way back from-”

“I don't care where you found him, Granger. I care what happened!” Snape paused long enough to bite back at Hermione.

“His hand,” she said.

Professor Snape laid Draco down on a small sofa and took the boy’s hand in his own. He dropped the soaked handkerchief to the side, cradling the injury with a softness Harry had never seen from his professor before. They heard the Professor suck in a breath at the sight of it. “A black quill?” Snape’s voice held little emotion, but Harry could see in his eyes that he was shaken. 

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s not healing,” Snape muttered to himself.

“He said he did 236 lines, sir.”

Harry saw the muscle in Snape’s jaw tense and work, but the man hid the emotion well. “Weasley, take a washcloth from by the sink and wet it with cold water. Keep another one dry and bring it to me. Granger, go into my private stores and get me blood replenisher and Murtlap essence. Potter, behind my desk in the classroom is a first aid kit. Bring it to me. Go.”

They all snapped into action, scrambling off to find what they needed. Harry hesitated only momentarily, wary of leaving Draco’s side, but a stern look from Snape sent him going.

The wet rag went to Draco’s feverish forehead, the dry one to staunch the bleeding on his hand, which was thankfully beginning to slow. Harry dutifully held it tight while Snape fed Draco the blood replenisher, saving the pepper-up for later. He then took Draco’s hand from Harry’s and began cleaning the wound gently with the Murtlap and the dry rag.

Five minutes later, Harry was watching Snape carefully wind a bandage around Draco’s hand, mesmerised by the repetitive movement. Ron and Hermione had been sent back to the Gryffindor common room, only relenting with the promise of news in the morning. Though Harry had no doubt they would be waiting for him in the common room. Draco slept peacefully on Snape’s sofa, a pillow beneath his head. Snape sat on the edge of the coffee table next to the sofa as he worked, while Harry sat on the arm and carded his fingers through Draco’s hair, working the words over in his head again. Snape’s coffee table, Snape’s sofa. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around where he was.

“Why did you bring him here?” Snape pulled Harry out of his thoughts. Instead of to Pomfrey, he meant.

“He didn’t want word spreading that he was in the hospital wing. This whole thing, it’s a little humiliating.”

“You would know?” Snape’s eyes cut into him, too perceptive for Harry to deny. He held up the back of his own hand for Snape to see.

“I must not tell lies,” Snape read, his eyes flicking up to meet Harry’s, then flicking away just as quickly. “Who did this?”

“The Toad. Err...Umbridge. I mean Professor Umbridge.”

The ghost of a smirk crossed Snape’s lips.

“The point is, he trusts you more than Pomfrey, being his godfather and all.”

“How do you know that?” Snape paused his work and frowned at Harry. “We try to keep that fact quiet to curb suspicion of favoritism.”

Harry cursed his flushing cheeks. He shrugged, looking at Draco, his lap, his feet, anything other than Snape’s piercing black eyes.

Snape watched him for a moment, his gaze lingering on Harry’s left hand, then his right, which still carded through Draco’s damp hair. “Do not lie to me, Potter. You didn’t find him on the way back from the library. Your affection for him is obvious and your friends were far too concerned for his well-being for a couple of old enemies.” Snape resumed his bandage winding, infuriatingly passive. “I would chalk it up to Gryffindor righteousness, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

His gaze was too perceptive for Harry’s liking, and he shifted under the stare, saying nothing. He couldn’t keep denying, but telling the truth was still dangerous. After all, he must not tell lies.  
Then Snape surprised him. “Would you like to see it? His wound.”

Harry stilled, then nodded, dropping to his feet and suddenly feeling very nervous. 

Snape tugged at the edge of the bandage, just enough for Harry to read inside as he stepped closer. A white-hot rage bubbled up in Harry’s core. Unbelievable.

I must not kiss boys.

Wordlessly, Snape replaced the bandage and tied it off securely. “Do you know anything about this phrase?”

Harry let his return to Draco’s side and his absent minded touches answer for him. Snape smirked. “I thought so.” He paused. “What do know about Black Quills, Potter?”

Way too much. “Nothing, sir.” Harry spoke through gritted teeth, bitter from the memories and angry at the red spots just barely soaking into the bandage. “Other than my own experience, of course.”

“They are an invention of Umbridge herself. About eight years ago, she attempted to get them standardized as punishment in all schools. She was unsuccessful obviously, but apparently she has found a loophole.”

Harry snorted, unable to help himself. “Really. The Toad breaking her precious law.”

Snape smirked ever so slightly again, and Harry felt an accord of peace shakily beginning to bridge the chasm-wide gap between them. “Harry that quill is filled with dark magic, which may affect the victim more than they realize. He may have been affected so strongly by its magic because he felt so strongly in the opposite. A sexuality is, in essence, an identity, a solid part, if not a whole of a person. That quill’s magic tried to eradicate piece of Draco’s very soul.”

“Did it succeed?” Harry’s voice betrayed the part of him that wished to hide his emotions. Though Snape was currently not acting like his most hated professor, Harry still felt wary around him, not quite ready to remove all barriers between them.

“I do not believe so,” Snape replied, a fond note in his voice as he glanced at his godson. “Our Draco is strong.”

Our Draco. Did Snape even realize how he was talking? Harry smiled nonetheless, then frowned. “So what about me? I don’t feel any different.”

Snape trained his gaze on Harry. “Harry Potter, when was the last time you told a lie?”

Harry thought back. He wanted to say just today, earlier, but that had been all Hermione. He remembered times in the last few weeks when he had wanted to lie even a tiny bit, but his conscience had shoved him forward, refusing to let him fib. His only lies had been of omission. “Merlin,” he breathed, looking at Draco’s peaceful form. “He’s stronger than I am.”

“He’s stronger than all of us,” Snape murmured so softly Harry thought for a second that he had heard wrong.

A groan cut through the thick silence, and Harry’s ponderings. “Draco.” Snape stood immediately. “Draco, can you hear me? Wake up.” Harry stepped back uncertainly until Snape told him firmly, “Get him a glass of water.” He pointed towards the kitchenette in the corner where Ron had grabbed the rags. Harry wrenched open the cabinet and grabbed the first glass he found, trying not to drop it as he held it under the faucet or as he carried it back to the sofa.

Draco gulped the water, obviously dehydrated from all the sweating and healing. He pulled himself into a sitting position with a grimace and Harry gripped his good hand, his thumb worrying across Draco’s smooth knuckles.

“I’ll kill her.”

Draco hummed into his glass, preparing to swallow the last of it. “I’m sure you’ll try. I assume you’ve both seen the wound then.” He tried to throw it out casually, but Harry knew him. He could see the shame in Draco’s eyes, in his shifting lower half. Harry just squeezed his hand all the harder. It’s okay, he willed Draco to understand. It’s okay.

“How do you feel?” Snape asked.

Draco sighed and moved as if to run his fingers through his hair, but thought better of it when he realized that one hand was injured and the other was trapped by his protective boyfriend. “Not all that dizzy anymore. Mostly just...drained. And gay as ever, fortunately.”

Harry grinned. Draco squeezed back.

“Well, then I believe some bed rest is in order. Potter, you must be on your way to your common room. I will write a note to Professor McGonagall explaining your absence at curfew in the morning.” The look Snape gave him was stern enough that Harry didn’t even try to protest. “I will also excuse you from your classes and we will see the headmaster to ensure that action is taken.” That stern look was directed towards both of them. It seemed their pride was the pawn they would have to sacrifice in order to win the game.

Harry gave Draco a chaste farewell kiss, then turned to leave. He was halfway out the door when Snape’s voice paused him.

“And Potter?” Harry turned. Snape’s gaze seemed to go through him again. “I have no knowledge of anything of the sort, but if you and your friends wished to maintain any sort of relationship with Mr. Malfoy, then I would understand why you would want to keep such a relationship secret, and would assist you in protecting all four members of this theoretical group.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you, Professor. Truly.” With one last look at Draco, he let the door the classroom click closed behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FanFiction.Net
> 
> Yo I am a huge fan of Severus Snape redemption arcs. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


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